


Starshine on my Mind

by forever_er



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (ohmygod they were roommates), Angst and Feels, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Eventual Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Memory Loss, Musicians, POV Alternating, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Roommates, Shiro (Voltron) is So Done, alternative universe, it's cliche but this is what's happening, keith is trying his best, there's angst but I promise it ends up okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:01:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forever_er/pseuds/forever_er
Summary: Lance can't remember. Keith can't forget.Can these two get back to what once was?





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!! This is my very first fic ever so please be nice! I have no idea what I'm doing, but the two idiots are still idiots so even though we are far into an AU here they're the same :')
> 
> (ALSO: WARNING for a panic attack here in this first chapter. It should be the only one in the whole fic, so just skip over the whole first chapter if you must because it just establishes the *gasp* memory loss)

Lance woke up confused and disoriented. He wasn't too concerned at first, because really, who wasn't confused and disoriented when they first woke up?

But as he took in his bright white surroundings and the cleanliness of the room around him, the confusion didn't disappear. It heightened.

"Hello?" He called out. His voice was scratchy, like it hadn't been used in a while. Which was definitely strange, because he was positive just yesterday he'd been running wild and singing at the top of his lungs around his flat. Pretty positive, anyway.

A nurse walked into the room. Lance ran a hand through his hair nervously. Well, tried to. His head was bandaged all over the place and it hurt like hell to move his arm.

"So you've finally decided to come back to us?" The nurse asked, smiling gently.

Lance looked at her strangely, "What do you mean 'come back'? Where have I been?"

"Sweetie," Lance stiffened, being called 'sweetie' was never a good sign, "you've been unconscious for a while now."

"Unconscious," Lance repeated.

The nurse nodded sadly.

"What happened?" Lance asked, his blue eyes shining with anxiety.

"You were in an accident. The damage was pretty extensive, several broken limbs, and some pretty heavy brain trauma. We'll have to ask you some questions to figure out exactly how much trauma, though. This is the first time you've been completely lucid in just over a month."

Lance's breathing had been steadily increasing during the nurse's explanation. Now, his heart was pounding mercilessly and there were black spots dancing across his eyes. His lungs were almost heaving.

A monitor began beeping from somewhere to his left.

The nurse took on a worried expression, "Hey, hey, it's okay, calm down Lance, it's okay..."

Her words meant nothing, Lance could barely hear them. Breathing was getting difficult. Everything was on fire. A panic attack, he vaguely realized.

"Honey you need to calm down," the nurse was saying gently as she pressed a button on his bed.

A cool calm started spreading over Lance's body. He felt himself slowly slipping into unconsciousness.

He mumbled, "No."

The nurse mouthed back, "I'm sorry."

But by then, Lance was drowning in the darkness of sleep.

\---

The next time Lance woke up, there was a boy holding his hand. There was a vague familiarity about him, but nothing too pressing.

"Why are you holding my hand?" Lance croaked, his throat dry. The boy guided a glass of water to his lips, which Lance was grateful for.

He nodded his thanks and waited for an answer.

The boy laughed in disbelief, anxiety creasing his features.

"Lance, I hold your hand all the time," the boy said, chewing on his bottom lip.

Lance blinked, "What do you mean? I don't even know who you are. How could you ever have held my hand before?"

The boy's face crumpled instantly, and Lance watched in growing horror as tears started spilling down his face. He let go of Lance's hand to wipe at his eyes and cheeks, his dark hair falling over his eyes.

"Lance, please, don't joke like that," the boy sniffled, his dark eyes full of pain.

Lance shook his head, fear pooling into him. He didn't know this boy, he didn't know this boy, he didn't know this boy...

He tried to pull closer to the opposite side of the bed, away from the boy, but the pain in his entire body stopped him. The boy still caught the motion, though.

"No," he said, the tears falling faster, his words catching in his throat, "no, no, no, no, no."

The words of denial soon turned into outright sobs, and Lance found himself torn between the unconscious desire to comfort and the more present feeling of alarm. He felt his hands start to shake.

Just then, the nurse rushed in.

"Keith, you need to leave," she said as gently and sternly as she could.

The boy, Keith, Lance guessed, turned his tear-stained face on her. He nodded slowly, one last sob pulling its way almost painfully from his throat.

"He doesn't remember," he whispered to the nurse.

"He doesn't remember at all."


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance learns some things about himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo so the bad news is I write James Patterson sized chapters but the good news is I write several of them at a time, so!
> 
> Please enjoy another look into Lance's Predicament

The nurse who had told Keith to leave came over and stood at the edge of Lance's bed. Her face was grim.

"Who was that?" Lance asked, his hands still shaking. 

The nurse pursed her lips, obviously unsure of something. Lance sighed in frustration, because really. He probably wasn't going to have another panic attack. Probably.

"That was your..." The nurse trailed off, still troubled.

"My...?" Lance prompted harshly.

"Your boyfriend, Lance. Keith is your boyfriend."

Lance sat, numb for a moment. Then he laughed, loudly and uproariously. The nurse, she was funny. Who would have thought?

"Good one," Lance continued to laugh.

The nurse stepped over to him, placing her hand on his. She looked sadly into his eyes. Lance's blood ran cold.

"You're not serious, right?" Lance asked, realizing that he wasn't really sure he wanted the answer.

The nurse nodded minutely.

Lance's stomach dropped.

"But... I'm straight. I've always been straight. I... I'm not gay, you know? I like girls." 

The nurse nodded again and squeezed Lance's hand. She said nothing. 

Lance's mind was reeling. This had to be a joke. The last thing he remembered, he had had a thing for Allura, who lived in the apartment complex across from his. He still had a thing for Allura. Not some guy with weird, mullet-y hair, no matter how nice his eyes were.

The nurse slowly took the seat to the side of Lance's bed that Keith had just vacated.

"What's the last thing you remember doing, Lance?" She asked softly.

Lance thought for a moment. He bit his lip in concentration, shaking his head in surprise when he felt a bump on the outside of his lip. What was that, a hole? For a piercing? What? 

"The last thing I remember is..." He trailed off, and the nurse nodded encouragingly at him. Lance took a deep breath and began again.

"The last thing I remember doing is visiting my friend Hunk's house. He had just gotten back from an engineering conference, and I was throwing him a sort of bro-date. Like a welcome back party, but just the two of us." 

"When was that?" The nurse asked.

"Recently, I guess. You said I've been out for about a month, so last month would have been, what, beginning of September, right?"

The nurse looked a mix of perturbed and confused.

"Well, it's the end of October right now. You're not actually too far off, Lance."

Lance smiled in relief. There was no way he would have suddenly become gay and found a boyfriend all in the few weeks before his accident. _Especially_ the boyfriend part. Keith was obviously delusional. I mean, who would want to date _Lance_?

"I'll have to go talk to Keith, of course, to understand where he comes in, but from what it sounds like, your memory loss isn't too bad." The nurse smiled encouragingly, but still had that strange perturbed look on her face.

It was making Lance uncomfortable.

"I'll talk to the doctor soon and he should be able to fill you in on everything you've been through in the past month. Give your head a few more days to heal, and we'll be able to send you home."

The nurse left the room then, and Lance breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been alone for more than a few minutes. 

Lance frowned softly as he realized just how true that expression had suddenly become. 

In any case, though, memory be damned, he couldn't wait to get back to his apartment. He couldn't wait to go home and fall into bed and be surrounded by the familiarity that was so sorely missing from the too-bright hospital. He had a large stuffed shark standing guard in his room, and he needed to get back and help it hold down the fort.

Lance looked down at his arms, and registered for the first time since waking up how different they looked. They were marked with scars and still-healing cuts. His left arm was in a bulky cast suspended in the air. He didn't feel any different than he had at Hunk's however long ago, but now he had to carry around these reminders on his skin of a night he couldn't even recall.

Everything was so weird, and Lance was suddenly so, so tired. He guessed dealing with inquisitive nurses and emotional fake-boyfriends would do that to someone.

With that, Lance reached stiffly for the water that Keith had given him earlier, and took a few sips before exhaustion crept in.

He put the glass down and closed his eyes as the stress of his wakefulness caught up to him. 

As he surrendered to it readily, his last, hazy thought was,

"I hope Keith's okay."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith reveals some history
> 
> (and Shay makes an appearance)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say Ultimate Angst and a Keith POV??? No? Well it's here anyway!

Keith was sitting against the wall three doors down from Lance's room. He knew his eyes were bloodshot, and that there was an obscene amount of snot on his shirt.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

Lance was his entire world, his everything. He laughed at Keith's stupidest jokes, he was always there in the morning, smiling the tiniest smile. He sang along to Keith's iTunes playlists at the top of his lungs. He argued about the pros and cons of lyric choices that their favorite bands made. Lance was the most important part of Keith's life.

And now Lance didn't know who Keith was.

Keith, somewhere in the back of his mind, registered his head hitting the wall fairly hard as he let it fall back. He didn't care. He could only feel the pain tearing through his chest, escaping through the tears tracing down his cheeks.

The door to Lance's room opened and the nurse who had kicked him out stepped through. Keith couldn't quell the pang of hope that seared through his heart as she walked towards him with a small, albeit puzzled, smile on her face.

"Keith," she said, her smile fading as she caught sight of him.

Keith let his head fall into his hands and she crouched down next to him.

"Does... Does he remember me?" Keith whispered, keeping his head hidden. Maybe it had been a fluke. Maybe Lance had remembered him as soon as he'd left the room.

The nurse, Shay, Keith knew, from all the time he spent here, put her hand softly on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie."

Keith hugged his knees tightly as another bout of sobbing overtook him. His heart was absolutely aching; he could swear it was damn near shattering in his chest.

Shay waited with him while he calmed down. It took longer than Keith cared to admit.

Slowly, Keith looked up to face her. She had a kind, sorrowful look in her eyes, like watching Keith suffer was painful for her too. Keith shuddered one last time and wiped his nose on his already messy sleeve.

"Keith, I'm really sorry, but I need to ask you some questions."

Keith nodded.

\---

Fifteen minutes later found Keith in clean clothes that he had gotten from his car. He and Shay were sitting together in the hospital cafeteria, neither of them eating.

"Keith," Shay began, "Lance told me that the last thing he remembers happened in September."

Keith jerked forward in his seat. September? How could Lance not know who he was, then?

"What was the last thing he remembered?" Keith asked quietly.

"Lance said that he remembered throwing his friend, Hunk, a welcome home party. He said that Hunk had just returned from a conference. Does that sound familiar?"

Of course it sounded familiar. Hunk and Lance laughed about it all the time when they were together. Or, well, they used to laugh about it all the time.

"That happened over a year ago," Keith whispered brokenly.

Shay's face fell. The hopeful look she had been harboring in her eyes turned into resigned acceptance.

"So it was last September, then?" She clarified.

Keith nodded. His stomach was pulling into painful knots, and he was finding it difficult to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"If you don't mind me asking, when exactly did you come into the picture, then?"

Keith looked at the ceiling for a moment to gather himself. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to relive it just now, but there was probably a reason Shay wanted to know.

"We met at a concert in November. I'd known Hunk for a while, we worked together for a bit when I was still training to be a pilot," Keith took a deep breath before continuing, "Anyway, so we were all at the same concert and Hunk knew that, so he invited me to go and hang with them, right? To meet up with them at the concert, because the venue was kind of, like, a free for all seating type deal."

Shay nodded when Keith stopped. She smiled encouragingly.

Keith started talking again, "So at first I just saw Hunk, because he just towers above everyone else, and I walked over to him, so we could talk while we waited to get in. But then I saw the kid next to him, who was smiling like a lunatic in anticipation."

Keith couldn't breathe, it was so hard to talk about it now. But he forced himself to keep going.

In a choked voice he said, "The kid that Hunk had invited was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in my life. I saw him, and it was like the world stopped for a moment. Like the universe was saying, 'hey, he's the one'. I couldn't take my eyes off of him."

Keith chuckled drily when he recalled the next part.

"Of course, that's when he introduced himself as Lance McClain, and I thought, 'Of course he has a hot name, too'. It was all so ridiculous. But the craziest part was that we were hitting it off. Even Hunk noticed. We ended up standing right next to each other during the concert, and we kept bumping into each other while the crowd was going crazy, and every once in while we'd catch eyes, and my breath would stop short. He smiled every time, and he would give me the cheesiest flirty smiles. We both knew all the words, even though Hunk only knew like, one song."

Keith fidgeted it his seat, torn between pain and happiness as he remembered that night.

"So after the concert, me and Lance decided to go out to eat. Hunk had work early the next morning, so he took off straight from the venue. He'd brought Lance there, so I drove him to the diner. We talked about music, because that was what we'd noticed about each other during the concert, obviously. How we both knew all the words. Lance, was... He was so into the conversation. His hands were gesturing all over the place while he talked about the different meanings that one line in a song could have. I remember we argued about one song for a solid hour."

Shay was blinking rapidly, her eyes growing misty as Keith spoke. Keith realized that he was crying again. It seemed to be the theme for the day. It was weird—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually cried before today. Not even when this had all happened; he’d just been numb then.

"The rest of the night was... It was perfect. It sounds cliché, but it's true. Everything just fell into place. When I drove Lance home, I was smiling like an idiot, and I'm pretty sure he was too. I walked him to the door and we just stood there, grinning like shitheads in front of his building," Keith's voice broke. He was stuttering through his words at this point, it was so, so hard to think that Lance didn't remember that night, didn’t remember their bonding moment, didn't remember him anymore.

"I couldn't help it. He was so beautiful, outlined by moonlight. I hugged him as hard as I could, and he hugged back. It sounds stupid, but it felt, in that moment, more intimate than a kiss would have been. We were just breathing each other in, holding each other. When we let go, I just knew. I knew Lance was it for me, even if he didn't yet."

Keith finally lost it.

"Fuck," He sobbed. For the third time in two hours, his shoulders were shaking and his chest was heaving. He struggled to breathe and to feel and to live. It was too much. It felt like he was being engulfed by wave after wave of black despair, pulling him quickly down, down, down...

Shay came around the table and hugged him fiercely. She whispered soothingly in his ear while he tried to pull himself together.

"Everything will be okay, Keith," she murmured.

But she wasn't actually sure, and Keith knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY but honestly how could I resist mentioning the bonding moment?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance bros it out

Lance wasn't sure how long he waited for the doctor to come in and tell him how much damage he had sustained. He'd fallen in and out of sleep a number of times, and he'd finished the glass of water near his bed. And then the second glass that somehow appeared later. And the third. A few meals, here and there, too.

By now, he was so bored he wished that his arm wasn't stuck in a cast suspended over his body, because being able to twiddle his thumbs sounded like a blast. Really, it did. He had definitely taken that ability for granted before.

Lance was counting the ceiling tiles for the sixth consecutive time when the door to his room creaked open, and the nurse peeked her kindly face in. She smiled at Lance before moving the rest of the way into the room, dragging an older man with graying hair behind her. Lance assumed he was the doctor.

"Finally!" Lance exclaimed, "I've been waiting to hear from you for like... Four days." If Lance could have crossed his arms at this point, he would have. As it were, he just scowled deeply.

The doctor gave him a skeptical glance. The nurse shook her head like she was half amused and half exasperated.

"Lance, honey," she said, "The last time I was in here was less than twelve hours ago."

Lance opened his mouth to argue, but then let it close again. Time was weird in hospitals, he decided.

"So can I know what happened now? And how bad my brain damage, or whatever, is?"

The doctor seemed to collect himself for a moment before responding. Lance waited as patiently as a patient possibly could when learning about what landed them as a patient in the first place.

"Mr. McClain, when you first came to us, you were something of a mess."

Lance had known that already. He was still pretty banged up, and it had been a month.

"When you got here, we weren't positive that you were going to pull through. You were unconscious, had a few punctured organs, a broken rib, a broken right femur, a broken left ulna, and a broken left radius. And that was just after the initial overview."

Lance allowed his mouth to hang open. Maybe it was better he didn't remember what had happened to make him that injured, after all. It sounded horrible. The nurse gave him a sympathetic face.

"You were severely concussed, too," the doctor continued, "Your brain was swelling dangerously, so we had to induce a coma to help reduce the swelling. It was a delicate matter, and it seemed for a while that you wouldn't pull through. Miraculously, though, here you are, nearly back to normal."

"Nearly," Lance repeated numbly.

"I know it's hard to hear, Mr. McClain, but the worst is in the past. Which leads us to our next problem: the past. But more specifically, your past." The doctor was eyeing Lance strangely, like he was a specimen under a microscope.

Lance broke the sudden silence so that he wouldn't have to face the brunt of that gaze any longer.

"The nurse over there told me the last time she was in here that my memory loss isn't that bad. The last thing I remember happened, like, only a month or so ago, doc." Lance raised his eyebrows for emphasis, as if trying to implant the idea into the doctor's brain through the power of his mind.

The nurse came over to sit next to Lance, then. She took his hand and sighed, and Lance felt his nerves start to rise.

"Lance, I talked to Keith, you know, the boy who was in here with you yesterday?"

Lance nodded slowly, only flinching slightly from the pounding it caused in his head.

"Well, Keith told me that the incident you were talking about, the party with your friend, happened over a year ago. Last September, in fact, not the one that just passed." She squeezed Lance's hand, like she was trying to offer him courage. Lance shook her off.

"What the hell does that Keith kid know? He's probably just delusional and thinks something happened between us or something. Maybe he mistook me for someone else, a different Lance!" Lance was almost yelling, his voice rising higher and higher the longer he continued talking. His head was pounding harder with anger. Who did Keith think he was, taking an entire year of Lance's life away? He was lying to the nurse. Lance's memory was practically fine; he was just missing a few weeks.

The doctor allowed Lance a few moments to calm down.

"Mr. McClain," he said, "as much as I would love for your theory to be correct, Mr. Kogane- er, Keith, is your emergency contact."

"He what?" Lance asked, anger still coloring his tone.

The doctor looked him in the eye, his gaze cool and serious.

"He's your emergency contact," he repeated.

"But..." Lance was at a loss, "How?"

"Because you put him there, sweetie," the nurse chimed in, her voice soft, like she was speaking to a child.

"I don't understand." If Lance could have, he would have dropped his head into his hands, trying to block out the world and come to terms with this new information. It didn't make sense. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Some stranger, his emergency contact?

"Would it help to get you some sort of solid evidence?" The nurse asked.

Lance whispered his assent, and the nurse scurried off.

The doctor stayed.

"I do apologize, but we still need to cover a few things," the doctor said, his voice full of regret that he couldn't just leave Lance to come to terms with everything.

"Since we know the full extent of your brain trauma, we need to get you signed up for therapy sessions. You don't have to do that until we release you, but I just thought you should know. The only things still healing are your bones and your brain, and you have a very healthy system so everything is going very smoothly. You can go home in about a week, and then you can come back and get your casts off."

Lance stared off into space and murmured something that sort of sounded like, "Okay."

The doctor nodded and left. Lance was glad, because soon after, silent tears leaked from his eyes. He wiped them as best he could with his good hand, but crying didn't actually make him feel any better. The world was still spinning twice as fast as it should have been spinning, making it hard for Lance to find his bearings.

The only thing he had going for him at the moment was that the nurse was going to find him solid proof about Keith. If she couldn't find any, then Lance was in the clear. Lance desperately wanted to be in the clear.

\---

Not enough time passed before his door was swung violently open and an unfamiliar phone was being shoved next to his ear.

"This is your phone," the nurse said, answering Lance's unspoken question, "and it's currently calling Hunk."

Lance checked the screen to make sure, and yes, the number being dialed really was Hunk's. Finally, Lance could relate to someone again. Someone he knew. He was suddenly ecstatic.

"LANCE?!" The voice on the other end shouted, making Lance tear his head away from the phone in pain.

Lance took the phone in his good hand and nodded for the nurse to leave, which she did, quickly.

"Hunk?" Lance asked, suddenly hesitant. Everything boiled down to this conversation. He felt nervous tears well up in his eyes, and a hard lump form in his throat.

"Ohmygosh, Lance!" It sounded like Hunk might be crying too, "You're alive! Well, I actually knew that, but you're awake! Which, I knew that too, but... you're talking to me! Lance!"

"Wait," Lance said, stopping Hunk in his rambling tracks, "how did you know I was awake?"

Hunk's voice sounded puzzled when he said, "Keith told me! Didn't he tell you..." And then trailed off, like he was realizing something.

"Keith told you," Lance said, emotionless.

"Oh, I forgot! He told me that... That... oh wow that was insensitive of me, talking about forgetting when you, actually, like, forgot nearly everything..." Hunk trailed off again, and Lance could hear the distinct sound of something solid hitting against another solid surface. He assumed Hunk was hitting his head off a table. If he could, he would personally hit Hunk's head off a table, too.

"Yes," Lance agreed, instead.

"So, did you call me for a specific purpose, then? Like, memory-wise?"

"Yeah."

"And what might that be?"

"Exactly who is Keith... To me?" He nearly gagged trying to get the sentence out.

"He's your boyfriend!" Hunk supplied, entirely too chipper for the life-changing weight the sentence carried for Lance.

"Boyfriend?" Why couldn't Lance have woken up to something a bit less unsettling, like a really hot girlfriend? Emphasis on girl.

"Yeah, you guys are super cute. Which you don't remember... Hey wait. Are you okay?" Lance was wheezing into the receiver, trying to calm himself down.

"Not particularly. From where I'm sitting, I'm still straight. I've always been straight, Hunk."

"Well, that changed a bit, is all." Hunk sounded nonchalant. Lance wanted to kill him and hug him at the same time.

"Right," Lance said skeptically. He thought about all of the times his eye would trail over the boys in school before he’d catch himself. Of the poster of his favorite rock singer in his room. He sighed loudly.

They didn't speak for a few moments until Hunk groaned into the phone.

"Wait, does this mean I'll have to help you through another sexuality crisis?"

Lance sighed and hung up. At least Hunk was still the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> convos, convos, convos

The week was nearly up.

Lance had been talking to Hunk on his phone almost every day. The conversations were usually short, but that was because his concussed brain could only take so much of Hunk's relentless and loud enthusiasm. Seriously. Every time Lance called, Hunk reacted like Lance had just gotten back from a ten year vacation to the moon.

Hunk was overjoyed to the point of squealing when Lance called the day before he was to be released from the hospital.

"I can't wait to come up and visit you!"

Lance agreed wholeheartedly. He had been devastated to learn that in the past year, Hunk had moved almost four hours away. Before now, Hunk had always been right around the corner.

"I know, the apartment is going to be so weirdly quiet when I get back. I'm so used to all the beeps and random scuffling sounds at the hospital," Lance laughed.

Hunk laughed along with him, "I wouldn't worry, Lancey, it's not like you'll be sitting all alone all the time."

"What do you mean?"

Hunk didn't respond.

"Hunk, I've lived alone for like, two years." He didn't bother adding in the year he didn't remember. So far he was doing a spectacular job of pretending the past year hadn't happened.

"Oh shit," was what Hunk said eventually, after letting the call hang in silence for far too long.

"Why 'oh shit'?" Lance demanded, his voice taking on a frantic tone. Had he been evicted from his apartment? Had it burned down in a fire? Had there been a gang revolt? Lance's thoughts were rapidly spiraling downwards as he tried to figure out what Hunk meant.

"Lance, I just realized something kind of awkward," Hunk said apologetically.

"Hunk, just spit it the fuck out!" Lance yelled, causing his head to pound. The nurse poked her head through the door in concern and Lance waved her out, half panicked.

"You uh, you sort of... you, see it's kind of funny..."

"Hunk, I swear to you, if you don't tell me right now I will do something drastic, so help me."

Hunk must have heard the near lunacy that laced Lance's words because in one breath he muttered, "YouandKeithkindoflivetogether."

"One more time?" Lance asked, suddenly terrified of what Hunk could have just said.

Hunk sighed, "You and Keith live together."

"Fuck."

"Well I'm sure you do that too, but right now we're talking about your living arrangement."

"Hunk, this is serious," Lance groaned. He really, really did not have the patience for jokes right now. Hunk could try to lighten the mood all he wanted, but that was absolutely not going to work. Lance's stomach was in knots and his blood felt ice cold. He had not talked to that weird Keith kid since the nurse had kicked him out however many days before, and now he apparently  _lived_  with him?

"Lance, I don't know what to tell you."

"Can I come stay with you?" Lance pleaded, fragile hope stuttering to life in his chest.

"I live four hours away from your hospital. If you have some sort of brain relapse or your internal patch jobs come undone, I won't be able to get you there in time. And it's the best hospital in like, a hundred mile radius." Lance felt a large hammer beat the hope he had felt to death in an instant at Hunk's words. Of course he was right, but that didn't mean Lance was happy about it.

Suddenly, there were rustling sounds and yelling from Hunk's end of the conversation.

"Lance, listen, I'm really sorry, but you're going to have to figure this out on your own. Keith's a good guy, you wouldn't have fallen for him otherwise. You'll be okay." And with that, he hung up.

Lance dropped his phone emotionlessly onto the table near his bed and stared up at the ceiling. This was not okay. But what were his other options? He hadn't spoken to his family in years, not after the falling out they'd had. His only friend was Hunk, and he had blatantly told Lance to stay put. He was so screwed.

He begrudgingly hit the call button on his bed post and waited for the nurse to come back in. He had a request to make.

\---

The boy in the band t-shirt and sweat pants looked even worse than the last time Lance had seen him. It looked like the life had been sucked right out of him; his eyes were dull and his black hair was matted and knotty. There were dark circles under his eyes.

Lance coughed awkwardly. "Hey," he said.

Keith looked up from where he had been determinedly studying his boots. Lance could clearly see the hope written on his face, even though it was also clear that he was desperately trying to mask it.

"Hi," he responded, his voice rough and quiet.

"So, um," Lance reached back and scratched his neck with his good arm, nervously bit on his lip and was once again startled by the bump on it, "I heard that we, uh, live together."

Keith nodded, "Yeah." He looked back down at his shoes.

"I don't know if any of the nurses or doctors or anything told you, but I get to go home tomorrow." Lance mentally winced at how casually he flung out the word, "home". He didn't even know what his home  _looked_ like anymore.

"I heard," Keith said, still not making eye contact, still in that same tired and quiet voice.

Sadness filled Lance as he looked at Keith. He had done that. He had burned him out. Even if he didn't remember Keith, Keith remembered Lance. Keith remembered them as KeithandLance. Together. The idea still freaked Lance out, but looking at how broken Keith seemed, Lance felt some of his fear of Keith melt away. The voice in the back of his head that had been incessantly convincing him that everything Keith said was a lie, that all of Keith's motives were malicious in some way, that to trust Keith was like trusting a snake about to strike, was silent.

"So, I guess that means you're stuck hauling me home tomorrow?" Lance asked, his eyes softening as Keith looked up at him in shock.

"What?" He asked, his face screaming his amazement at what Lance had just asked.

"Well, I mean I figured since we were going to the same place, you'd take me, but if that doesn't work-"

Keith cut him off forcibly, "Oh, that works. That definitely works. I'd be overjoyed to take you home, Lance McClain." He was beaming widely, and his eyes were practically twinkling. Lance didn't know that people's eyes did that in real life.

"Okay... cool, I guess."

The nurse walked in then, signaling that it was time for Lance to take his painkillers. Keith got up from the chair next to Lance’s bed that he had been sitting in as the nurse put the pills on the side table and walked to the door.

"You need to let Lance rest in a few minutes, sweetie," she said, smiling slightly as she took in the sudden change in Keith's demeanor.

"Yeah, I'll leave in a second, Shay," he said, still smiling goofily wide.

Lance didn't know how to react. Keith's smile was adorable, and he was desperately trying to ignore that observation. It was confusing and upsetting. He didn't like the way his thoughts were turning.

Keith came up to Lance's side and tentatively brushed his hand over Lance's bandaged head. Lance automatically flinched back from him, and Keith's smile dropped.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

Lance nodded, suddenly unsure of Keith all over again. He realized that he would be completely helpless if he went home with Keith. Lance hadn't even been able to fight off the hand brushing over where his hair was trapped under the bandages. The vulnerability terrified him. Keith may have had an adorable smile, but Lance didn't actually know him at all.

The door closed behind Keith and Lance sunk lower on his bed. He wasn't sure he was ready to go home yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back to the storm, kiddos


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> home again, home again

Lance woke up with his stomach already in knots. Everyone had assured him that Keith was a nice, trustworthy, and upstanding young man, but Lance still wasn't convinced. No matter how many times Hunk texted him little confidence-boosting smiley faces, he still felt strongly hesitant about the whole thing.

It was the deeply rooted hesitancy that was bothering Lance the most. In his mind, if Keith had really been as perfect for him as Hunk said, then Lance would have had some kind of inkling, some kind of itch in his subconscious to trust him. So far, Lance had only felt terror, denial, and begrudging acceptance in Keith's company. He had also felt guilt about Keith's obvious pain, but that still wasn't anything near the trust or companionship that Lance would expect to feel somewhere if Keith really meant anything to him.

Lance sighed and pulled himself stiffly into and upright position. He untangled his left arm and right leg from their slings and just sat for a moment. He was going home with a boy he had only spoken to twice. Everything felt surreal.

At some point while Lance was asleep, Keith must have brought clothes for Lance to put on, because they were stacked neatly on the chair next to Lance's bed. Lance smiled slightly as he caught sight of his favorite NASA t-shirt. At least he wouldn't have to wear a hospital gown anymore- that would've made the ride home a little awkward.

He reached over and managed to get a hand on the clothes without having to get off of the bed. Glancing at the door suspiciously, entirely too aware that it could open at any moment, he fumbled out of the hospital gown- that was the easy part; the hard part came when he had to maneuver with only one good hand into his shirt. After trying and failing, and nearly falling off of the bed several times, Lance finally had the shirt secured across his torso. What a victory.

Next came the underwear and sweatpants. Trying to ignore how odd it was to him that Keith had handled his undergarments in order to bring them there, Lance managed to get both legs in without too much fuss. He probably looked like an idiot, hopping up and down on his butt while sitting to try and pull them up, but it was fine. He was injured and unable to do things normally.

He had just pulled the gray sweats halfway up his good leg when the door was flung open.

"Lance, honey, I don't know if you're awake but Keith's here," the nurse said, walking into the room.

Lance made a strangled shrieking sound and desperately tried to shove his clunky, cast-clad leg into the other hole in his sweatpants. It was a manly shriek, obviously. His cheeks were flaming as he sat there, half in and half out of his sweats.

The nurse had popped her head up from her clipboard at the shriek and she turned immediately around as she caught sight of Lance.

"Sorry, sweetie!" she called over her shoulder, "Just tell me when you're finished so we can chat." Lance could hear the slight amusement in her voice. He frowned.

"Yeah, okay!" he called at the door, his cheeks still bright red and his heart racing. That had been uncomfortable.

After a few more tense minutes of struggling to get his sweats to pull over top of the cast that encased his entire right leg, Lance was finally fully dressed. He really hoped that it wouldn't be this hard to get dressed every single time until the casts came off, because he didn't know if he could commit to that kind of hardship.

"I'm dressed!" Lance yelled, still embarrassed.

The door creaked open markedly slower this time, and the nurse cast a cursory glance in before entering. She smiled and laughed quietly as she looked at Lance's face.

"You look horrified," she observed.

"Kind of!" he returned, covering his eyes with his hands and peeking out between the cracks in his fingers.

"Sweetie, not only did we have to open you up to fix your internal organs, but someone, and I won't say who, but someone had to empty your bedpan while you were unconscious." She gave Lance a fixed stare.

Lance stopped peeking through the gaps in his fingers. "Oh," he said.

"'Oh' is right," the nurse nodded. "Now stop acting like a little girl and let me take those bandages off your head."

Lance groaned, but did as he was told. He smiled sheepishly as she came forward to unwind the bandages.

The nurse was gentle as she unwound them, but Lance still winced when her fingers came into contact with the skin near his hairline.

"Ohmygod, am I bald?" Lance asked frantically, lifting his hands to inspect the damage.

The nurse rolled her eyes and held his hands at bay. She stroked a piece of his hair over his forehead.

"See? Not bald. You didn't even lose any hair. You can still leave this hospital as beautiful as you remember yourself being before you were admitted."

Lance sighed in relief. His hair was very important to him. He had made so many mistakes with it in the past... He didn't want to have to start from scratch. That would be heartbreaking.

The nurse stuffed the soiled bandages into a waste bin in the corner of the room. Lance looked at her apprehensively; he didn't want to leave just yet.

Instead of telling Lance to stay put for another few days like Lance desperately wanted her to, the nurse said, "Keith will be right in with the wheelchair. Your paperwork is already done. You can leave once you're all set." And then she left the room.

Lance waited, his legs hanging over the side of the bed, his phone stuffed into his pocket. The stress he had been battling all day was building into a concussion-induced headache. The fact that Keith would literally have to push him everywhere was only making Lance more nervous. He knew he couldn't use crutches because of his broken arm, but he couldn't even wheel himself around in the wheelchair because the cast prevented him from making contact with the wheels. It was completely unfair.

A light, almost hesitant-sounding knock caused Lance's head to snap fearfully to the door. This was it.

When Keith entered, Lance could immediately see the change that had taken place. He had a hopeful glow in his warm, dark eyes, and a small smile playing on his lips. When he saw Lance, the smile turned into a broad, blinding grin.

"Hi," he said, his voice soft. He pushed the wheelchair into the room, his hands covered by the sleeves of his gray sweater. He stopped the wheelchair at the foot of Lance's bed.

Lance didn't respond, but he carefully got down from the bed, making sure not to put weight on his bad leg. His right arm gripped the hospital bed tightly so he could stay balanced.

Keith watched, worried. "Do you need help?"

Lance looked up at him and shook his head as he lowered himself into the wheelchair. He fiddled with his hands before looking back up at Keith, who was now standing warily behind him. "Thanks for bringing my clothes," he said quietly.

Keith smiled again. "It wasn't a problem, Lancelot," he said.

Lance frowned. "Don't call me Lancelot," he practically whined, images of his sisters’ sing-song voices echoing in his head.

Keith's smile softened, like that was the response he was hoping for. He fixed his hands onto the wheelchair bars and looked down at Lance for permission to go. Lance nodded, dropping his gaze back to his hands.

"Off to Neverland!" Keith yelled, and Lance couldn't help the startled laugh that slipped from his mouth as Keith wheeled him through the hospital, waving at the staff like they were his best friends.

Right before Keith and Lance hit the front doors, Lance's nurse appeared, like she had been waiting for them. Lance's mouth dropped open in shock as she pulled Keith into a tight hug.

"Good luck," she whispered, and Lance could see Keith give her one last, hard squeeze before letting go.

"Thanks for everything, Shay," he said.

"Yeah, thank you," Lance added with a small, but genuine smile. Shay had been there for him for longer than he remembered, after all.

"You two be careful out there, okay?" she said, and Keith and Lance both nodded before Keith whisked them both out the doors.

\---

The ride to their apartment was severely awkward, at least from Lance's perspective. After Keith had had to physically lift Lance into the car (why was the bed of the car so high?), Lance had basically shut down. He wouldn't look up, he wouldn't answer any of Keith's questions, he wouldn't reply to any of his comments. Lance was, basically, a nervous wreck.

He knew that normally he would have a lot to say. He'd never really been that shy, so it took a lot to make him completely tune out. He was pretty sure that going home with a guy who was apparently his boyfriend that he had no recollection of, and who he had only spoken to twice since waking up from a life-changing accident constituted as "a lot".

To make matters worse, the doctor had specified that Lance couldn't listen to music in enclosed spaces (like a car) where the sound could amplify and affect his concussion. So Keith and Lance had to sit in silence for the forty-five-minute drive that it took to get to wherever the heck they lived.  
Keith finally parked in the garage of a rather old-looking brick building. There was ivy covering most of the western side of the building, and, despite himself, Lance actually thought it looked pretty cool. Not that he was going to tell Keith that.

After lifting an unhappy Lance back into the wheelchair, Keith gave him an apologetic look.

"What," Lance deadpanned.

Keith scratched behind his neck in obvious discomfort, "We live on the top floor."

"Is there an elevator?"

"Well yeah... But," Keith grimaced, "it's out of order."

"Great." Lance brushed a hand through his hair in annoyance. He was either going to have to crawl on one hand and one foot, or Keith was going to have to haul him up. Again.

"Sorry," Keith mumbled, wheeling Lance into the lobby. Lance barely had time to look around the dim area before the two of them were stopped by an exuberant, flaming red mustache-sporting man who had just gotten off the steps. His eyes lit up when he saw Lance.

"Lance, my boy! Welcome home!" he said, crouching down slowly in order to give Lance a hug. Lance patted him timidly on the back, unsure of how to react.

"Uh... hi," he said, wincing at how unfriendly his tone sounded. It wasn't his fault that he had forgotten a year of his life, he hoped that people would understand.

"Coran," Keith said, his tone apologetic, "Lance can't remember who you are."

Coran stood back up, startled, and twisted the edge of his mustache around his finger. His face gradually morphed into one of comprehension, though, much to Lance's confusion and surprise.

"How much?" he asked vaguely, analyzing Keith's face as he waited for an answer.

"Just over a year," Keith sighed, and Coran pulled him into a hug, too. Coran and Keith hugged for a good while, and Lance could swear he heard Keith sniffle.

Coran finally let go of Keith and bent back down to talk to Lance. "Lance," he said, his pale eyes blazing, "Keith Kogane here is a great young man, and you are very fortunate to have him. You knew that once, and I am confident you'll know it again very soon."

Lance nodded energetically, somewhat fearful of the passionate older man. He looked up at Keith and saw a brief look of what seemed to be guilt cross his features before he schooled it into one of gratitude. Lance's overall feeling of confusion only grew.

"Alright boys, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to go dominate some youths in a game of tennis." And with a quick pat on both of their shoulders, and a barely audible, "Hang in there," Coran disappeared out the door.

"What even?" Lance asked, dumbfounded.

Keith chuckled, his voice low and crisp, and Lance shuddered involuntarily as unexplainable chills raced up his spine, "Coran is our very dearest neighbor. We usually have him over once a week for drinks."

"Oh, okay," Lance said, not sure what else to say. And then, "He seemed to understand about my... condition?"

Keith nodded, "Yeah, he's a retired neurologist. He knows all about that kind of thing." Lance couldn't really argue with that, so instead he eyed the stairs sprawled in front of them.

"What floor are we on, like, the number?" he asked, weighing the pros and cons of hopping one-footed.

"We're floor six," Keith said, and Lance nodded, slowly getting up from the wheelchair.

Keith looked at him with alarm clear in his dark eyes, "Lance, what are you doing?"

Lance looked at him determinedly. "I am going to hop."

He put his usable, right hand on the railing and balanced himself on his left leg. He hopped up onto the first stair, then the second, and the third. He was already winded.

Keith rolled his eyes, but didn't object in any way, which Lance was grateful for. Keith only stood a few steps down from Lance, dragging the wheelchair behind him, and ready to catch Lance if he fell.

By the first landing, Lance was wildly out of breath, and his good leg was shaking. By the second, Lance's head was pounding, and tears were welling in his eyes. By the third, he crumpled to the ground in defeat.

"I can't do this," he sobbed, pulling his knees into his chest so he could hide his face. Tears of frustration were streaming freely down his cheeks. "I don't want to be so useless!" He was sniffling, and he was probably gross, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Keith knelt down next to him, and softly put his hand on Lance's shaking shoulder. Lance was too upset to shake it off.

"Lance, shh, it's okay," he said, rubbing soothing circles into Lance's back. Lance was still crying violently, too keyed up to stop now that he'd started. Keith just continued to whisper quietly until Lance could bring himself back under control.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his voice cracking.

Keith smiled sadly at him before turning around and offering Lance his back. Lance clambered on without too much hesitation, and he curled himself as close to Keith's back as he possibly could, his finger lacing across Keith's shoulders.

"What about the wheelchair?" Lance mumbled, exhausted and depressed and drawing an unexpected amount of comfort from Keith's warm presence under his chest.

"I'll come back for it," Keith replied nonchalantly, and Lance nodded, closing his eyes.

By the time Keith opened the door to their apartment, Lance was barely conscious. The stress of the move had really gotten to him, and he barely registered Keith's too soft, almost adoring gaze as the black-haired boy carried him into a dark room with a bed.

Lance was laid down gently, and he snuggled into the blankets that smelled almost-familiar. He tried not to think about it, because he was far too tired and the emotions generated by the scent were far too all over the place for Lance to focus on. Instead, he pulled the pillow closer to his face, and held onto Keith's hand.

"Don't go yet," he mumbled, fearing the dark loneliness that the hospital had offered.

"Not until you want me to," Keith's soft voice whispered, and within seconds, Lance was fast asleep.


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> food, music, feelings

Keith wasn't really sure how much time passed before he gently and reluctantly pried his hand from Lance's slackened grasp. Lance's face was finally,  _finally_  relaxed, finally peaceful in a way that Keith hadn't seen in months, and it filled Keith to the brim with a sort of warm drowning feeling. Warm, because Lance was finally home, Lance was finally happy, Lance was  _holding Keith's hand_ , but Keith was drowning because Lance -conscious Lance- was a walking reminder of the horrible pain of the last month, of the tears, the dread, and the wracking, wrecking guilt, and when Lance woke up he would be volatile and afraid again.

For now, though, Lance was safe. Keith carefully, softly, let his thumb brush over Lance's cheek, over his jawline. His heart was trying to claw its way out of his throat, past his teeth, desperate to spill its secrets into Lance's unresponsive ears. It was beating a painful cacophony of  _I love you'_ s that resonated through Keith's entire being. But Keith swallowed it down and walked away, allowed himself only another singular moment to memorize the way Lance looked, tousled and innocent, before he left the room to head to the kitchen.

It was half past one in the afternoon according to the guitar-shaped clock situated over the stove, and Keith couldn't help the wistful sigh that escaped his lips. Lance's sleeping schedule was so whacked. He was probably going to be up at odd hours for another week until he could slip into his routine again. Or -more accurately, and more painful for Keith- until he found a  _new_  routine.

Twisting the knob on the oven so that it was preheating, Keith turned to the fridge to scrounge for food. It wasn't as well stocked as it had once been, Keith hadn't really been eating all that much. He was starving now, though, and when Lance woke up, he would probably be starving, too. Keith wasn't completely sure that he'd eaten at the hospital before they had left.

With a barely suppressed shout of victory, Keith pulled a frozen pizza from the dark depths of the freezer.

"I've been saving you for a special occasion," he murmured with adoration, pulling the box flush to his chest. Cuddling with a frozen pizza, admittedly, was not a high point in Keith's life. But since cuddling with Lance in celebration of this wonderful discovery was not an option at the moment, cardboard-clad food would have to suffice.

The oven beeped then, signaling that it was time for Keith to let the pizza go. He carefully stripped the pizza from its box before grabbing a mitt from a bright yellow peg on the wall and shoving the pizza onto the top rack. Setting the timer, he smiled. Ten minutes until food.

It was then that he remembered the wheelchair sitting against the wall on the third landing.

"Shit," Keith exclaimed, clapping his hand instantly to his mouth and casting a rapid glance at the bedroom door. It would be just like him to wake Lance up from a nap. And then Lance would refuse to talk to him again.

He debated the pros and cons of leaving the wheelchair in the hallway until Lance woke up, but finally conceded to the reality that he was going to have to leave Lance alone for a few minutes if he didn't want to risk sacrificing Lance's only mode of transportation. Hopefully Lance didn't wake up while he was downstairs, because then Keith would feel horrible. Lance was always confused when he woke up, and breaking into consciousness in a strange place- Keith couldn't quite quell the pang that shot through his heart that Lance didn't know his own home- would only make him grumpy and distrustful.

He checked the timer on the oven: seven minutes remained until the pizza would be done. Which meant that it had only been in for three, and would hopefully, probably, not catch fire while Keith was gone. He did not really need an apartment engulfed in flames on top of his other problems.

He cast one more glance at the door separating him from Lance before dashing out into the hallway. Keith took the steps three at a time, careening down the staircase like a man fleeing death. His only concern was to get the wheelchair back as soon as he possibly could, so when he nearly took out a middle-aged man carrying a bag of groceries, he didn't really care. The man was being overdramatic, pulling his hand to his heart like that. Keith had been like, at  _least_  an inch away from him. The near-collision wasn't even that near.

Finally, Keith arrived on the third landing. Sitting undisturbed against the wall was the wheelchair. Keith sighed. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his chest and his lungs were protesting his rapid stair-descending pace.

"Exercise is bad," Keith gasped, holding the stitch in his side. He made a mental note to never, ever,  _ever_  sprint again. It had about zero positive consequences.

Panting embarrassingly for the actual amount of exercise he had just done, Keith folded the wheelchair and hefted it against his chest. He started the trek back up to his apartment at a much slower pace, figuring that having an exhaustion-induced heart attack would be counterproductive. Also, he didn't want to have to enter that damn hospital again for the rest of his life, let alone a second time today.

He passed the horror-stricken man he had almost knocked over on his way down, still standing in the exact same position Keith had last seen him in. Mentally rolling his eyes, Keith proffered an apologetic smile. The man just stared back at him.

Shrugging, Keith shifted the wheelchair in his arms and continued on his way.

Upon reentering his apartment, Keith let the wheelchair hit the ground with a muffled  _thud_. He wiped the sweat from his brow and walked back into the kitchen. The timer informed him that he still had two minutes until the pizza would be ready. Lance's quiet snoring could still be heard from the bedroom. Keith smiled softly. Things might have been a mess at the moment, but right now, at least, Keith could almost pretend they were normal again.

God, he wanted things to be normal again. He wanted to go to bed at night without having to worry about the screeching of car tires and the flash of headlights and the crunching and cracking of bones following him into unconsciousness. He wanted to wake up with Lance in his arms, his blue eyes crinkled with a smile as he poked Keith to rouse him, his hair messy from their pillows. He wanted to take back every part of  _that night_ , every slurred word that had escaped both of their mouths, every angry and biting remark. He wanted so, so much, but he couldn't have it anymore. One decision had ruined that. What once was could no longer be.

The timer on the oven went off, pulling Keith from his thoughts. He hastily opened the oven, nearly forgetting the oven mitt before he felt the heat licking at his fingers. Scrambling backwards, he made sure to actually cover his hand before reaching back in for the pizza, scraping it onto a platter. The cheese sizzled and sputtered, and Keith's stomach grumbled in appreciation.

He heard another, more mouth-oriented grumble from the bedroom, and looked up to find Lance limping towards the kitchen, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His sleep-rumpled shirt had pulled down on one side, revealing his collar bones, and his eyes were squinted open. Keith's heart squeezed painfully at the sight of him. He wanted nothing more than to hold him.

Instead, he showed Lance the platter. Lance's eyes immediately opened wider, his teeth appearing over his bottom lip in that habitual way that drove Keith crazy.

"I made pizza," Keith said, as if it wasn't obvious. He wondered briefly when his throat had gotten dry enough to crack through every syllable he spoke.

Lance nodded, wincing. He rubbed at his temple, his eyebrows furrowed together and his forehead wrinkled. Oh, right. Concussion.

"You'll probably need to take your pain meds after we finish eating," Keith offered, putting the pizza on the counter, and Lance rolled his eyes.

"You think?" He rubbed harder at his temple.

Keith sighed, slumping visibly. Rather than dignify that kind of rude remark with an answer, he turned towards the cabinets, pulling down two plates. He set one in front of Lance, and placed one two seats down from him at the counter. Although it pained him, personal space would probably make Lance more comfortable.

Lance had just opened his mouth to speak again when Keith turned once more to the cabinets, pulling out a knife and fork. Lance's mouth closed with an audible  _clack_ , his eyebrows hidden up under his hairline as Keith placed the utensils down on his plate. Lance continued to stare at them, dumbfounded, while Keith loaded his plate with three slices of mouth-watering pizza.

When Lance's eyebrows still hadn't descended after an entire minute, Keith paused in his eating. Uncertainty washed over him as he turned to address the boy next to him.

"Lance?" Keith asked softly, barely refraining from reaching out to him. He clasped his hands into fists instead.

Lance looked up at him, his light blue eyes darkened with confusion.

"You knew." It wasn't a question, and all at once Keith understood why Lance had been staring at the utensils on his plate like they were foreign objects.

Keith nodded, his eyes growing watery without his consent. "Yeah," he whispered, "I've known."

It was funny in a sort of morbid, horrible way, Keith couldn't help but think, that knowing Lance preferred to cut up his pizza instead of eating the slice with his hands had brought them to this standstill. Lance was still looking at him like he was trying to understand, and it hurt. It hurt that knowing things about Lance, things that had become so second-nature, only seemed to drive Lance away.

Keith couldn't take Lance's gaze anymore, so he turned back to his pizza. His appetite was gone, now, but he couldn't think of anything better to do.

They ate in silence for a while, and if a few tears managed to escape from Keith eyes, then no one had to know. Having Lance right next to him and yet so far away was overwhelming, and he figured it would become the new normal that sometimes… well, sometimes the weight of it would manage to crush him for a while.

When the last slice of pizza was gone, Lance cleared his throat. Keith's head immediately snapped up to look at him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, looking at Keith from under the hair that lay flat against his forehead.

Keith shrugged, "Don't mention it."

Silence set back in, and Keith looked awkwardly around the apartment, unsure of what to say. Suddenly, a problem that probably should have occurred to him earlier became all too apparent. He covered his eyes with his hands and groaned.

"What?" Lance asked, anxiety clear in his voice for the umpteenth time that day.

Keith uncovered his face and gestured widely with his hands to the living area.

"We have no couch," he announced, letting his head flop forward.

"Okay..." Lance agreed, looking at Keith warily, "And?"

Keith was glad that Lance hadn't asked about the particular reason as to  _why_  they didn't have a couch, because that was a story he had no interest in recounting. This Lance would probably have a fit. Keith's Lance had just laughed.

"And," Keith said, extending the syllables, "We have two human beings living in an apartment with only one bed. No couch. One bed."

Lance's face blanched, and that was how Keith knew he understood the situation they were in. Why hadn't Keith bothered to get a replacement couch?

He knew, of course, why he hadn't: the funds weren't there. They had been okay before, but Lance's insurance hadn't covered all of his medical bills, and Keith's wages alone seemed meager without Lance's to help split the expenses. There was definitely reasoning behind their lack of couch, but at the moment, Keith regretted it  _so_ severely. He had never realized exactly how necessary couches were up until this moment.

"I'll take the ground tonight," Keith sighed, getting up to grab some blankets from the bedroom. There was no point in waiting until later. Maybe if he set up his makeshift bed now, he would actually be able to find a comfortable spot on the floor. Maybe.

Shockwaves rolled through Keith, though, as a hand shot out to grab his wrist while he moved past. His heart was pounding and his stomach was whirling, and he knew he had missed having Lance voluntarily touch him but he hadn't known exactly how much.

"Wait," Lance said, his grip tightening on Keith's wrist. "You don't have to do that."

"Lance, it's fine-" Keith began, but Lance cut him off.

"It's not," he said. "It's not your fault that I don't remember you, you've done nothing to earn my distrust, and," Lance's bottom lip trembled, and he said in the smallest voice Keith had ever heard, "you know me."

Keith's wrist slipped out of Lance's grasp, and he stared at Lance in awe. He knew that his adoration was probably broadcasting itself out of his eyes, but he didn't care. He took back every negative thought he'd ever had about the Lance sitting in front of him, because Lance was brave. He was so brave, and Keith was so in love with him, and he missed him and he wanted him, but he was so proud of him, too. He was trusting a near stranger to lay in bed with him. A near stranger, who he knew he had had a relationship with, and who he was trusting not to do anything to him even though he had the physical upper hand.

Lance was looking down at his hands, now, so he couldn't see the smile growing by the second over Keith's lips.

"Oh God, Lance, yeah. I know you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!


End file.
